


Wrathful

by BelladonnaWyck



Series: 4x7 [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, Murder Husbands, Paris (City), Post Fall, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck/pseuds/BelladonnaWyck
Summary: Will & Hannibal appreciate the marks they’ve left on one another.





	Wrathful

Will enjoyed tracing the marks he had left through his proxy on Hannibal’s flesh. Matthew had ultimately been unworthy to mark Will’s monster, but the scars stood as a testament to Will’s power. _He_ was a worthy mate to the ravenous wolf that lived in the pit of Hannibal’s stomach. And Hannibal was proving each day that he was equally worthy of Will’s monster, and his wrath. 

They’d had a lazy morning fuck, Hannibal putting them both on their sides and sliding into Will easy as anything, as the first pale light of a new dawn spilled through their gauzy white curtains and across the hardwood floor of their Parisian apartment. It was in the still and quiet moments after they had both found release that Will’s thoughts began to drift. 

It had been an eventful year since the fall, the first several months of it spent in convalescence in the Canadian wilderness. Chiyoh had gotten them across the border via a small watercraft and had nursed them until they were able to nurse each other. As soon as they were capable, she left them and told Hannibal her debt to him was paid and not to call on her again. 

Hannibal said she didn’t mean it. That Chiyoh would always answer the call of a Lecter if it were made. But he also let her be. 

After three months in the woods, even Will was going stir crazy. The cabin had been fully stocked with everything they needed and it was still too dangerous for them to travel into any populated areas. So they stayed in the cabin; playing chess, reading, arguing, sulking. It was surprisingly Will who first asked for things to become physical, who also first suggested they move on. It was time to leave the place of their healing. Their first time together had been on their last day in that cabin; Will had taken Hannibal on his back and spent nearly an hour opening him up until he was so relaxed Will was able to slide in with little resistance. 

Hannibal had taken them to Cuba after that, but the warm weather and salted sea air had not agreed with their still healing bodies. So after a month they had made their way to Paris and that is where they remained. Will loved their apartment, it was smaller than he had imagined Hannibal would allow but it felt cozy, like a real home instead of a museum. They lived in the energetic heart of the city, but their home felt like a pocket of peace; not unlike the stream he still sometimes wandered to in his mind. 

“Where have you gone, beloved?” Hannibal pushed his black hair out of his own face; he had dyed it upon arrival to Paris and continued to color it. It had grown long in the year since the fall, now able to be tied up when Hannibal wanted it out of his face. Will’s own hair had also grown longer, curling ever further at the ends, a sandy blonde color they had decided on. 

Hannibal cradled Will’s chin in his palm and from the corner of Will’s eye he caught on the thin, silvery bands of scar tissue that wrapped around Hannibal’s wrists. Will had done that. He had permanently marked Hannibal Lecter as his own. The Cannibal Beast, so feared by gods and men had been brought to heel by Will Graham. 

Hannibal followed Will’s gaze and a slow smile pulled his lips up. “How did it feel to play the part of a _wrathful_ god, Will? Did it feel as good as you had dreamed?” Hannibal moved his palm to rest possessively against his own mark on Will’s lower abdomen. Their first true penetration of the other’s inner sanctums. They had both been left reeling from that experience. And now, here they were, years later and in the closest approximation of love either of them had ever been likely to find. Both too sharp, too shadowed for the rest of the world. 

Will clawed viciously at the slightly raised scars in punishment for Hannibal breaking his concentration. He smelled the salted, copper tang of blood on the air and looked down to see he had drawn blood with his nails. Barely a surface level scratch, but he knew Hannibal would love the abuse all the same. 

“I never dreamed of being wrathful, I only dreamt of blood,” Will paused, pressing a kiss to the marks he’d just dragged his nails across. Tasting Hannibal’s essence, bitter like whiskey, on his tongue. “Did you feel wrathful when you gave me mine?” He placed his own hand over Hannibal’s where it laid against his stomach, claiming and proprietary. 

“No,” Hannibal breathed, soft and quiet in the early morning. “I felt undone.” He whispered against Will’s shoulder, a gentle lingering kiss that felt like a brand against Will’s flesh.


End file.
